


Of Tunics and Dresses

by Helholden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 18:19:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helholden/pseuds/Helholden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a tumblr prompt. Prompt called for, “Sansan. Sandor is Sansa's sworn shield in Winterfell after all of this political bull has been settled. Spring is finally here and Sansa wants to make Sandor a few new tunics for spring. She says he has way too much yellow and black in his closet and needs to decide on another color. She tries to finagle what his favorite color is out of him. Fluffier than a pomeranian in a cotton ball factory please!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Tunics and Dresses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ToxoplasmaFabulousa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxoplasmaFabulousa/gifts).



_* * *_

 

Sansa had been paying closer attention to Sandor as of late. It wasn’t as if she was staring at him in an unladylike way, though her eyes did linger from time to time on the fluid movements of his body whenever he was in the training yard. At the current moment, Sandor was fighting against a green boy barely ten and six, but the boy sliced his dull edged sword at Sandor and the pointed tip caught on Sandor's tunic, tearing a gaping hole in it.

 

Sansa gasped partly because she feared him injured and partly because Sandor growled at the young boy and beat the flat of his sword against the back of the boy’s knees, sending him to the ground. Sandor then stalked over to the edge of the training yard.

 

Leaving her place from where she had been watching the match, Sansa made her way over to Sandor's side.

 

Upon looking at his ruined tunic, she realized she ought to offer to make him some new ones. It also struck her that Sandor had very few tunics of color. Most of them were black or the unbleached color of raw linen, while a few of them were yellow. Black and yellow were the colors of his house, but surely, Sandor had a color he liked outside those colors.

 

“Would you like me to make you some new tunics, Sandor?” Sansa asked of him, her hands folded properly in front of her as she awaited his answer.

 

“You may,” Sandor rasped, “if you like.”

 

“What color shall they be?” Sansa asked next, a small smile threatening at the corner of her mouth.

 

Sandor shrugged as if he didn't care. “Make them black or yellow,” he said.

 

“There must be another color you like,” Sansa insisted. “You have too much black and yellow. I want to make you something new.”

 

“Black or yellow will be good enough,” Sandor replied without looking at her, and he turned away from Sansa to walk off.

 

Sansa crossed her arms.

 

She spent the next week trying to figure out Sandor’s favorite color. Sansa watched him over meals to see if he veered towards foods of certain colors, and she trailed him in the hallways to see if he stared at any of the tapestries or paintings. Sansa never saw him favor any particular color. She was just about to give up her search when one day she found him in the washer room.

 

Quickly, she stepped back to avoid detection. Sansa peeked around the corner to see Sandor staring down at one of the newly cleaned dresses.

 

It was her dress.

 

Sandor didn't touch it. He didn’t do anything but stare at it. One moment, he almost looked like he might touch it, but then his fingers reached back and curled into his palm. Angry with himself, he stormed towards the opposite exit that led to the outside. Sansa pulled back to hide as he left.

 

She peered back around the corner when he was gone, her mouth agape. She walked up to her dress slowly, reaching out to touch it. It was her fine light blue dress, the color of the sky.

 

A week later, Sansa approached Sandor with his new tunics. She made him a handful, a few of them of different colors, but three of them were the same bright blue as her dress. Also, Sansa had chosen to wear the dress of hers that she had caught Sandor looking at in the washer room.

 

She held them out to him with a warm smile on her face. Sandor wore a strange, unreadable expression as he looked down at the tunics and slowly accepted them into his hands.

 

“I hope you like them,” Sansa told him with all earnestness. “I find they do quite match my dress very well.”

 

When she turned around to walk away from him, Sansa couldn't fight off the bright grin that overtook her entire face.

 

 


End file.
